


we lost magic

by loghain



Series: The Nature of Inviting [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 05:25:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1214317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loghain/pseuds/loghain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weeks after the tryst in Hannibal's office, Hannibal takes Will home. What could happen? Porn. Porn happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we lost magic

**Author's Note:**

> Written shortly after I originally posted The Nature of Inviting, but inexplicably never posted here. A sequel of sorts, but really it's just short smut set in the same universe - there's no plot talk here.

Will’s room is small and mostly bare, fitting of a family that has never been rich enough to own lavish things but never poor enough that there wasn’t food on the table most nights; the bed is narrow and only made for one, and it creaks obnoxiously when Hannibal first kneels on it. For a moment it sounds like it could break before it settles and only protests quietly with each movement that Hannibal makes as he draws himself towards Will, and he asks, “How long have you had this bed?”

"I think I got it when I was six," Will admits, "Dad wanted one that would last me a long time." He’s all nervous breathing, fingers fiddling in the sheets, wise enough to know what’s going to happen and just inexperienced enough that it still scares him.

"He chose well," Hannibal remarks, and closes the gap, catching Will’s mouth in his at the same time as he palms Will’s crotch.

The bed is sat between the wall and a chest of drawers, and Will’s hand flies out, pressing against the side of the drawers in search of something to hold onto as he ruts up against Hannibal’s touches. There’s something so beautiful about Will like this: trying so hard to restrain himself that he only reaches for more.

"Dr Lecter," Will gasps, his stomach fluttering when Hannibal pushes up his shirts in order to undo his pants. Hannibal looks down at him, pausing for just long enough to take in the prize he has beneath him: messed up curly hair that needs cutting (Hannibal wonders if Will would let him do it), a slow flush creeping up around his collar from his chest, legs spread, knees either side of Hannibal’s thighs - and then Hannibal divests Will of everything below the waist, mindful of time and unwilling to wait anyway.

They’ve come a long way from their first encounter in the office, and when Hannibal remembers that Will has laid in this bed and gotten off thinking about Hannibal fucking him, he smiles.

Hannibal offers Will two fingers, pleased when Will takes them into his mouth without any hesitation. Though Will has been with other boys before, Hannibal has the certain and strangely powerful knowledge that nobody else has fucked Will before. And with the way that these sort of relationships go, Hannibal suspects it will be some time before anyone else has the chance to - and besides, Hannibal doesn’t particularly relish the thought of anyone else spoiling what’s his.

Will makes sounds from the moment that Hannibal pushes those fingers inside him, starting with breathy little sounds, and more murmurs of “Dr Lecter” because Will hasn’t yet worked out how he feels about calling him “Hannibal”, and maybe Hannibal doesn’t discourage the action because… yeah, he likes it. Authority is historically a powerful toxin, and a sweeter one when tumbling from a mouth like Will Graham’s.

"Enough?" He asks, and Will stammers a yes.

Hannibal lets him sweat long enough for Will to squirm impatiently and beg, “Please fuck me.” It’s desperate and delicate, and all the more filthy for it, and Hannibal distantly wonders what else he could train Will into saying, how prettily he could make the boy beg.

He’s grateful for the condom in his wallet - since he apparantly needs to carry those around now - and exhales slowly when he undoes his own pants, taking himself in hand to put the condom on. He notices the way Will watches and can’t resist a terrible little smile on his lips; Will’s eyes are bright and burning, on the knife’s edge between nervous and unbelievably wanting.

Hannibal is a giving person, though, so he doesn’t deny Will anymore. He relishes in the undignified squeak Will lets out at the first push of Hannibal’s cock inside him; Will doesn’t seem to realise that all the imperfect, little things are the things that make him most interesting, that his faults and shaking control and particularly the way his knuckles are bone-white where he grips the sheets, the edge of the drawers,  _anything_  for purchase and safety are the things that Hannibal likes most.

It isn’t boasting to say that he has Will moaning in seconds; Will is sensitive and receptive, and Hannibal likes to coax the sounds out of him, to thrust long and slow and then surprise Will with something much harder. The bed might not be able to take anything particularly strenuous, Hannibal thinks, so he errs on the side of some sort of caution, his body pressed into Will’s, all lines where he ends and this teenager begins thoroughly blurred, his fingers touching Will’s throat and ribs.

He kisses Will to taste his cries, nuzzles his jaw and neck and breathes in the smell of him; sweat and cheap deoderant and he can smell  _himself_  all over Will in the most pleasant sort of way. He mouths against Will’s collarbone, heat burning harder in his stomach with each thrust -

And it’s then that a door slams downstairs.

"My dad," Will says, his voice strangled. Well, obviously, Hannibal wants to say, but he doesn’t. "I don’t know why he’s here," he whispers, and his voice is shaking. There’s a thrill to the idea of nearly being caught, but Hannibal pauses, bracing himself for Will’s sake.

"Perhaps he forgot something to take to work," Hannibal breathes. His own voice is rougher, lower, worn by arousal and how much he’d like to just keep on fucking Will. Whistling floats up to the room, and Hannibal listens carefully, ignoring Will’s panicked breathing in favour of listening to the shuffling that can be heard from the kitchen. No scrape of chairs, nothing that sounds like cooking; Hannibal can more or less safely deduce that Mr Graham won’t be here long.

So Hannibal rocks his hips forward.

Will’s response is immediate and gratifying; he whimpers, fisting the sheets and shaking his head, and Hannibal strokes his cheek and then presses his hand over Will’s mouth, and keeps thrusting, harder than before, risking those obnoxious creaks of the bedframe in favour of the way that Will’s breath is hot against his hand, cries sufficiently muffled but not  _deadened_.

His body arches up against Hannibal’s, every muscle tensing and untensing. A wonderful kind of wildness takes him, wetness welling up behind Will’s eyes - none of it the negative kind, though. Hannibal recognises it for what it is: Will is honestly getting off on this, waves of arousal and shame ebbing in turn for enjoying being held down and well-fucked.

The moment that the front door opens and shuts again, Hannibal takes his hand off Will’s mouth. Will’s resulting cry is the loudest that Hannibal’s ever heard him; even he is momentarily taken aback by it, a fleeting thought running through him that from outside he might’ve been heard before vanishing in the way that Will rolls his hips up, a silent and vocal beg for more.

Will stammers words that never quite form, aborted vowels that fall shapeless from his mouth, and Hannibal understands. He slips a hand between them to wrap around Will’s cock and it’s only three firm strokes because Will comes, whining, chest heaving, streaking come across his stomach and Hannibal’s hand. 

The fact that come gets on both their clothes should annoy him, but it doesn’t.

His own orgasm comes not long after, spurned on Will’s enthusiasm; he pulls his hips flush to Will’s, (he wonders what it would be like to do this without the condom) and kisses Will, keeping him in the moment and not letting the haze take him just yet.

Will inhales sharply when Hannibal does pull out, and then all the tensions leaves his body like a broken elastic band, sinking boneless against his pillow and sheets, his cheeks red. Hannibal’s next kiss is gentler, done when he puts them both back together; it’s a promise, and a somewhere halfway to honest one at that, to take care of Will today, and he’s glad when Will smiles.


End file.
